Paths Cross
by Daughter of Thranduil
Summary: Eighteen year old Combeferre moves to Paris to start university, where he meets some new accquaintances...you can guess who they are. Please review.
1. Combeferre Is On His Own

**I wanted to write the story of when the Amis first meet but, given the age differences I allotted them in my last fic, I realised that the likes of Enjolras and Prouvaire would arrive at university a couple of years after Combeferre, Joly etc. So instead, this is the story of Combeferre's first few weeks at university and the friendships he forms there. Oh, and I threw LeClair in again since everyone seemed to like him.**

**I realise that it's a slow start, but I hope you like it.**

**Disclaimer: Only LeClair is mine.**

**CHAPTER ONE - COMBEFERRE IS ON HIS OWN**

Paris was a _very_ large city, eighteen-year-old Etienne Combeferre noticed nervously, as he looked at the splendid view out of the window of his apartment. And tomorrow, he would be attending the university to begin his career as a medical student, with no one else to help him. He had to stand on his own feet now – and that was a frightening thought!

He turned away from the window and settled in an armchair, suddenly very much aware that he was alone. He came from a very busy and noisy household and now was missing the familiar sounds of home; his father's merry laugh and the bustle as he came and went visiting his patients; his mother's soft voice as she sang and played the pianoforte; his four sisters' giggles and conversations as they sat at their embroidery. It sounded silly to admit it at the age of eighteen, but there was no other word for it – he was homesick.

His parents had left him only a few hours ago; his mother with a tearful kiss to his forehead and his father with a reassuring embrace. They'd made sure he was settled in and had everything he would need before they had to set off on the three hour home journey. They were both incredibly proud that he, their only son, had decided to follow in his father's footsteps and become a doctor; so they had found him this apartment and purchased the equipment he would need. They had both told him that he would manage fine and that they were sure that he would do them proud. He was determined not to let them down.

He found himself wishing, for what felt like the thousandth time in the last few weeks, that Nicholas Enjolras - the fourth son of the aristocrat on the neighbouring estate - had not passed away four years ago. True, his particular friend had always been Julien (Nicholas's younger brother), but Nicholas, had he lived, would have been the same age and would be starting university right now too. He had been a confidant and friendly young man, who would have been able to speak to anyone they met tomorrow. But sadly, there was no point in wishing – he knew that. Nicholas was gone and Julien, however much he hated his home and wished to leave it, was too young to go to university. Etienne knew he was going to have to get through tomorrow on his own.

With a sigh, he made his way through to his bedroom and got into bed. He shut his eyes for a moment, trying to calm the twisting nerves in his stomach. Unsuccessful, he leaned over and blew out the candle, enveloping himself in darkness.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The next morning, Combeferre woke up far earlier than he needed to. Unable to get back to sleep, he got out of bed, washed quickly and started to dress. He put on a new white shirt, navy breeches, a pale blue waistcoat and a navy jacket that matched his breeches. He tied on a cream cravat and went to stand in front of the mirror while he tied back his brown curly hair with a navy ribbon.

With his soft eyes, smooth face and gentle smile, Combeferre was strikingly handsome, and that morning looked exceptionally smart. However, when he self-consciously looked in the mirror, he frowned at his reflection. He had never had much self-esteem.

Though he gladly swallowed a cup of tea, Combeferre found himself far too nervous to eat breakfast. Instead, he spent the remaining time he had in a frantic perusal of the books his father had given to him. He had tried to memorise as much as possible but he was convinced that he would forget something simple and be made to look a fool.

He put off leaving for as long as he was able, but eventually he gathered up his books and the bag with his equipment and hurried out of the building, making for the old and impressive building that was the university.

The pavement and the steps outside the huge arched doorway were alive with students who were bustling about, hailing their friends and comparing notes. Combeferre swallowed nervously, winding his way through all the unfamiliar faces and climbing the stone stairs. He looked for anyone carrying a medical bag, or with medical textbooks, but he couldn't see anyone at all who answered that description.

This caused his heart to pound. Surely he wasn't late? He'd walked here as quickly as he could! What would the lecturers think of him if he was late on his first day?

He ran into the main hall in a panic, not stopping to take in the splendour around him,looking around wildly for any directions to his destination. He realised that a large sheet of paper with what appeared to be room numbers on it was pinned up in an alcove on the wall. Students were crowding around it and then hurrying away, confirming his suspicions. Swallowing, he made his way over to the crowd and began to squeeze to the front of it.

He scanned the list quickly, searching the neat sheet of numbers for the one he was looking for. When he finally found it, he wriggled out of the crowd and ran frantically down the corridor on the left.

Racing around a corner, he ran smack bang into someone coming in the other direction. Two armfuls of books fell to the ground with a clatter and Combeferre looked down at the floor in horror.

"_Pardon_!" he said in total mortification. "I'm so sorry! Please excuse me for being so clumsy. I thought I was running late and I…" He stopped short at the sound of an easy laugh.

"Don't be so upset, my friend!" replied the young man who he had banged into, and Combeferre looked up to see a smiling face, framed by floppy brown hair. "First day?"

"Yes." Combeferre nodded, as they gathered up their books. "I'm studying medicine."

"Me too." replied the boy, looking at him with friendly green eyes that were full of laughter. "Don't worry, you're not late for the lecture. It does not start for ten minutes."

"That's a relief!" breathed Combeferre gratefully, leaning against the wall with a smile. "My name's Combeferre by the way. Etienne Combeferre."

"Pleased to meet you." replied his new friend with a grin, as he held out his hand. "I'm LeClair. Claude LeClair."

**Like it? Hate it? Do you think it's worth continuing? PLEASE LET ME KNOW!**


	2. Christophe Joly

**Wow, what do ya know? I actually got round to writing a second chapter for this! And it's only taken me...five months! Lol, it's amazing what being floored with the flu can do for writer's block! I didn't think I was ever going to continue this, but voila!**

**Please let me know what you think.**

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CHAPTER TWO - CHRISTOPHE JOLY 

"Come." said LeClair. "I'll show you where the lecture room is. We'd better be finding seats anyway. I imagine it will be quite crowded."

Combeferre nodded nervously and followed the tall, dark-haired student down the corridor, noticing – and feeling guilty for doing so – that LeClair's clothes were worn and shabby. Evidently he had not benefited from the same wealthy background as Combeferre himself had.

"Here we are." said LeClair, pushing open a door and gesturing for Combeferre to precede him. "I'd try and grab a seat by the front if I were you. From what I gather, it's rather difficult to hear at the back."

Combeferre nodded gratefully as he stepped into the room. It was indeed crowded; full of smartly dressed young men with their arms full of books, all talking and shaking hands at the same time and making a terrific amount of noise.

Heeding LeClair's advice, Combeferre wound his way past various groups of people and headed for a pair of empty seats in the front row, next to a young man with brown hair and glasses, who was examining his tongue in a little pocket mirror.

"Are these seats taken?" enquired Combeferre politely, in his gentle tenor.

"No, not at all." answered the young man cheerfully. "Sit down. I should warn you, though, that I believe I am contagious."

"Contagious?" repeated Combeferre in surprise as he sat down beside him, with LeClair taking the seat on his other side. The young man appeared to be the picture of health; certainly giving no impression of being ill at all.

"Yes." answered his neighbour, turning his attention back to his mirror, which he used to examine his eyes next. "I believe I am coming down the measles and I shall likely be dead by the end of the week."

Combeferre simply blinked, unsure if this was a joke or not. He flashed a look at LeClair, who seemed equally confused, and shrugged. There were no spots on the boy's face, neck or hands and no sign of any other symptom of illness whatsoever. And for someone who was allegedly dying, he seemed to be perfectly cheerful.

"Still, as long as you know the risk you're taking in sitting beside me, I don't mind." concluded their neighbour with a friendly smile, as he held out his hand. "I'm Joly. Christophe Joly."

"Pleased to meet you, Joly." said Combeferre pleasantly, shaking his hand. "I'm Etienne Combeferre, and this is Claude LeClair."

Joly grinned welcomingly and they fell into conversation about how many students there seemed to be, and the size of the university before they were interrupted by their lecturer.

The class fell into respectful silence while he checked that all the students had managed to find their way there all right, and that everyone was equipped with the correct textbooks. When all that was settled, he began the class.

Combeferre continued to shoot quick glances on the intriguing young man sitting on his right. Joly had chestnut-brown hair that swept across his forehead and round his ears. His glasses were neat and small and very much suited him. He appeared to be the same age as Combeferre was; eighteen. He was also well dressed and evidently came from a wealthy background.

But what really puzzled Combeferre, was that Joly continued to shoot sly looks at his mirror, poking his tongue out and examining it carefully when the professor's attention was diverted elsewhere. And yet, looking at the notes he was taking, he seemed to be paying his utmost attention to the lesson too.

Between such distractions, he felt the glands in his throat and then put his fingers on his wrist to check his pulse. He really did seem to be convinced he was ill.

'_But there is nothing the matter with him!' _thought Combeferre bewilderedly. _'I have not even begun my medical training, yet I can tell he has not got measles. He is the very picture of health! He is a strange one!'_

Yet, even more strange, when the professor began to quiz the class to find out what they already knew about the medical profession and its many areas, Joly gave the most intelligent answers Combeferre had ever heard, making many of the class look towards him in admiration.

It was almost as if Joly had two sides to his character; one half determined to be perfectly silly and convince himself he was suffering from some disease, and the other half bringing forth this confident, calm young man who could answer the professor's most difficult questions with an astounding elegance. And the two halves simply didn't seem to go together. How could someone be so paranoid and yet so intelligent at the same time?

Combeferre was both intrigued and endeared to Christophe Joly at once. When the professor left the room for a short while, Joly conversed with him and LeClair with an infectious friendliness and a bright smile. He was interesting and amusing and evidently was a deep thinker. But he was certainly a puzzle!

"Well, I think that went rather well!" said LeClair happily, as he gathered up his books at the end of the morning lecture. "I think we're splitting up next and dividing among the laboratories, but before we go, do you two fancy meeting up for dinner at the Café Lemblin?"

"Certainly." answered Combeferre, grateful for the easy friendliness that LeClair radiated. He had been worried about being stuck on his own when he arrived here, but LeClair had arrived just in time and taken him under his wing.

"Excellent." grinned LeClair. "Joly, what about you?"

"I'll be glad to." replied Joly, with his friendly smile firmly in place as began to gather up his own books. "What time?"

"Six-ish?" suggested LeClair. "That'll give us plenty of time to get finished here."

His companions agreed and the three students strolled out of the room and went to check the lists posted outside the hall to find out where they were headed next.

To Combeferre's relief, he was placed in the same group as LeClair. Joly however, would not be accompanying them. The group he was placed in was heading off in the opposite direction.

"I'll see you this evening." he said as he walked off. "I shall endeavour not to collapse before then!"

With that, he hurried off down the corridor, leaving Combeferre and LeClair staring at each other in confusion once more.

"You know, Etienne _mon ami_." said LeClair, sounding exceedingly amused. "I am convinced that Christophe Joly is either going to prove to be either the most eccentric, intelligent person of my acquaintance, or as mad as a bag of badgers!"

And Combeferre, laughing heartily, could do nothing agree.

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**Before anyone attempts to shoot me for calling Joly silly, let me clairfy that I adore Joly! I only portray him as slightly odd in the chapter coz it's based on the first impression he gives. Please review.**


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